


And I Know Things Now (Many Valuable Things)

by agent85



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dreams vs. Reality, F/M, Jemma vs. Kree Rock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-14 14:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4568343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent85/pseuds/agent85
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 2x22. Jemma finally has everything she's ever wanted, but is it all too good to be true? Or will her past trauma find a way to ruin it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this Tumblr post](http://agent-85.tumblr.com/post/119044184567/isabellehartley-princessmelia), _Star Trek: Generations_ , and the original _Star Trek_ episode "The Cage"
> 
> The title comes from _Into the Woods_ song "I Know Things Now."

The first thing she learns is that her lips were always meant to slide against his. His fingers are splayed across her back, drawing her closer, and her hands are flat against his chest. She kisses him timidly at first, but when she feels him grin against her mouth, she's brave enough to begin showing him how she really feels.

She clutches at his shirt, needing him closer, closer, and she relishes knowing that every part of him is strong, solid, and  _here_.  

She's been waiting for this moment, and she's really not sure how long she waited, exactly, but she can't fathom why. They don't need words, or distance, or even air, because he knows her, and he knows just how to kiss her, and there is something about the way his hand reaches to cup her face that makes her feel wholly and utterly safe. 

Kissing Fitz is like letting him read the first page of a rich narrative that is already etched on her heart. She has been a stranger to herself for so long, but now she is discovering the depths of her soul right along with him. And for the first time, she is exploring this without fear, realizing that she has always been an adventurer with test tubes and beakers, but now she is blazing a trail with their lips that will lead to herself and to him, and there is, at last, nothing to be afraid of.

 

His hand fits perfectly in hers, and the ground is as soft as the clouds, and the actual clouds above them are breathtaking. There is a peace and stillness she never thought they could have, a beauty no words could capture. She turns her head to him, and when their eyes meet, his eyes are clearer than the sky. He lifts himself up on an elbow and looks down at her in pure adoration. His fingers trace an outline on her face, then skim over her forehead, her cheeks, her lips. He bends down for a sweet, summer kiss, and she catches his face in her hands before he gets too far away. Her thumbs graze his cheekbones, and the warmth in his skin and his eyes are like a soft blanket, enveloping her. Behind his eyes, there burns a promise that she has been aching for. She smiles as the last piece of her heart finally relaxes.

 

The lab is massive and beautiful, and this time there are no deadlines hovering over them, no death waiting at the door, just them and an endless landscape of discovery. She looks into her microscope and feels his hand on her hip. She looks up and finds him beaming back at her. He takes his turn with the microscope and she tangles her fingers through his hair. There are no secrets between them now, and together, they will unravel the mysteries of the universe. 

 

The sun streams through the windows of her childhood home to form a halo around him. He is being hugged by her mother and clapped on the back by her father, and the two people who made her look up with smiles that say  _you did it, we understand now, you have done so well_. There is a glow about Fitz that wasn't in the meadow, nor in the lab, and she knows that it means that he is home here, that he has found her past and embraced it with both arms. He is now a part of the life she lived without him, and he softens every lonely memory, every moment of expectation and regret. She closes the space between them and is not afraid to kiss him in front of her parents, in front of the neighborhood, in front of the world. When he leans his forehead against hers, he tells her that his mum is waiting for them.

 

His mother makes the best tea she's ever had, and it fills her with a warmth that Jemma thinks must be shining out of her pores. She gives her a hug that is firm and soft, and she tucks a lock of hair behind Jemma's ear and tells her how happy she is to finally have a perfect daughter. He takes her by the hand and shows her every nook and cranny of their well-loved home, and she can see a future here, a place with the mother of her dreams and the man who is so much more.

He takes her in his bedroom and comes from behind to wrap his arms around her, whispering stories into her ear. She looks around the room and sees pieces of him that are finally named and sorted. There are posters on the walls, legos in the corner, and a picture of her on his dresser.

She is eight years old in the picture.

The second thing she learns is that this is not Fitz.

 

She is in a meadow, and the grass comes up past her bare ankles and sways in the breeze. The sun streams down through puffy, white clouds, and she can hear children laughing in the distance. But they are not children, and this is not a meadow, and this is not Fitz's hand on her shoulder, not his comforting presence behind her. Now that she sees it, the fabric of this fantasy is starting to show its seams. The laughter is on a loop, the sun is too cool for its intensity, and the grass gives too much to the force of the gentle breeze. And Fitz—who has she given her secrets to? How could he trick her into betraying the thing she holds most precious? She narrows her gaze and his stubble grows out and turns dark on a jaw that is now square, and he stretches up to tower above her with sharp cheekbones and a look of profound disappointment.

Jemma screams and shrieks until she is hoarse, and Ward dissolves into brown leaves, and the distant horizon is stripping away like wallpaper, and she is standing alone in a black box.

Jemma Simmons screams until she has neither voice nor strength, and she collapses onto the cool floor, clutching at her knees and sobbing. He's taken it all away from her again, and now she has nothing; now she _is_  nothing.

She is lying in fetal position, empty of tears, when she finally falls asleep.


	2. Limbo, Part One

He's there when she wakes.

She opens her eyes, and realizes that she's lying on her side, and he's sitting up, peering down at her. The déjà vu is almost strong enough to make her vomit. 

"You looked very peaceful sleeping. Didn't want to wake you, but I'm glad that you're up."

This is impossible. He is impossible.

"What's happening?"

He uses one hand to rub at his eyes, and when she lifts herself up, she sees that his other arm is in a sling. 

"Well, you're hallucinating, obviously."

The answer comes without a hint of malice or humor, as he seems distracted with examining various medical supplies. She registers the throbbing in her head and gestures towards the bottle of painkillers in his hand.

"And those are?"

"Also imaginary," he affirms. "But I'm pretty sure your headache is too, if that's any consolation." He gives her a smile that is small, but friendly. This is not the Fitz she left behind.

She pushes herself up into a sitting position. "Where are we?"

Not-Fitz looks up and around the storage pod, then back at her. "How should I know? You haven't named it." When she rolls her eyes at him, he lets out a heavy sigh. "I'm an expression of your subconscious, Simmons. I'm not sure what you expect."

That makes her smile, because the exasperation in his voice is so familiar, so dear. It's something she's missed for a long time, but it somehow only increases her thirst for him. 

"And what do I call you?"

Fitz is still searching through the imaginary supplies. "Whatever you like, I suppose." Then he whips his head around and points a severe finger at her. "Except Leopold. Or Leo. You only call me that when you're cross, and I haven't done anything."

"Okay," she agrees, pursing her lips as she thinks that a little levity might just be what she, the doctor, ordered. "What about Fitzy?"

He raises an eyebrow at her. "Are you sure about that? Won't that ruin things when you get back to the real me?"

She considers this. "I guess you have a point—"

"Besides, seeing as I'm a spectre—"

" _Fitz_."

"I think we should keep our relationship strictly platonic." He tries to fold his arms, winces, and ends up just placing his free arm over his sling with indignation.

"It's not like I was going to . . . seduce you, or anything."

Not-Fitz's eyebrows shoot up. "Oh, really? Seems you've conveniently forgotten what happened yesterday."

She huffs. "Yesterday, I thought you were real. I stopped immediately when I realized."

"Didn't prevent you from having some fun first."

Jemma lets out a groan and scoots herself over so she can flop on the floor. "We are  _not_  telling Fitz about that, okay? Things are awkward enough as is; I don't need him to know about my exploits with a fantasy version of him."

"Can't imagine why," he prods. Simmons decides not to take the bait.

"Well, since you're clearly not Fitz, maybe I should call you that? Or an acronym? NF?"

"Eneff? That's the best you can come up with?"

Simmons shrugs. "I did have a favorite uncle named-"

"Alfonso?" He cringes. "Eneff will suit me fine, come to think of it."

Simmons smiles at her victory, and decides to change the subject. "So you have no idea where I am, how I got here, or how long I've been here?"

Eneff shrugs. "Well, you were taken here by the Kree stone that you weren't supposed to touch. I can only imagine how furious Mack is gonna be when he finds out what you've done. As for time, well, that's anyone's guess. Time might not even work in this place."

Jemma imagines Mack's stern face, an image quickly replaced by the thought of Fitz—her Fitz—terrified by her disappearance. Her heart clenches as she's hit by a wave of anxiety.

"He'll think I left him again." 

Eneff examines an anti-venom pack. "Probably. Very insecure, that one." He looks over at her, and must have seen the tears that are forming, because he gives an encouraging shrug. "Okay, he'll think you left for a good five minutes, at most. Then he'll figure out what happened and come find you."

Jemma props herself up with an elbow. "You really think so?"

He cocks his head at her. "You do realize where we happen to be, don't you? This is the last time you were trapped in an undesirable place, and you know what he did then."

Her stomach sinks. "Don't remind me."

"Speaking of," Eneff says, "you have a unique opportunity here. You can do this bit of your life all over again, and save me from getting brain damage. Or, you could go back to the Bus and kill Ward before he has a chance to capture you and hand you off to Garrett. It's your choice, really."

She looks at her companion, noticing for the first time the dried blood that's smeared all over his face, and she knows he's not real, but she can't bear to look at it. She picks herself up and starts sifting through the supplies. Once she finds a disinfectant wipe, she works at gently scrubbing his face clean.

"This is what I should have done. He had a bloody face, and a broken arm, and I was too worried about my own mortality to do anything about it."

Eneff winces as she makes another pass across his cheek. "Don't think he minded much. He was more worried about-"

"Me, yes I know." She frowns. "I mean, I didn't realize that at the time, but now . . ."

She and Eneff share a glance that conveys the words she'd rather not say. When his face is clean, she moves to fuss over his arm, examining the break as best as she can.

"He set the break himself, you know," she explains, "or tried to, all before I even woke up. When Fury's team got to him, they had to do it all over again, and I felt so stupid."

She hears his sharp intake of breath as she sets the bone in a quick, violent movement. She finds herself staring at the arm long after she's done.

"I can't believe how selfish I was. He must have been in so much pain, and there I was, prattling on about atoms and microbes."

"And monkeys," Eneff corrects.

She smiles. "And monkeys." He smiles back at her, and she can't help cupping his cheek and gazing into his eyes. "Sometimes I look back at this moment, and I can't believe how heroic he was. He strapped us to the backboard to cushion our fall, he sent out a distress call, and in the end, he . . ."

"He gave up his life for yours," Eneff finishes, gently removing her hand from his face, "and you gave it back to him."

She sinks into a sitting position beside him. "I remember the iron taste in my mouth. From the . . ."

"From the kisses."

She nods, taking in a shaky breath. "That's the first thing I remember from when I woke up in that hyperbaric chamber. The disorientation and the taste of iron and salt. And Fury, staring down at me, thinking I'm some kind of hero when . . . when it was all him."

"Well," Eneff offers, "as an illusion of Fitz, it behooves me to point out that he had no idea how to get out of here until  _you_  figured out how to break the seal on the glass." He smiles at her, but when he meets her eyes, his face falls. "Well, if it bothers you so much, you can fix it. Do it all over again. Dream up two canisters of air, and kiss him on the lips this time."

She furrows her brow. "But it won't mean anything; I'll know it's not real."

Eneff shrugs. "Forget."

"Forget?" She balks at the idea. "How am I supposed to forget that I was eaten by a strange alien rock and taken to . . . to wherever this is?"

"Easy," Eneff answers. "You forgot before, and you can do it again. Close your eyes, and wake up in a world where Fitz doesn't have hypoxia, Skye isn't an Inhuman, and Trip isn't dead."

She shakes her head at him. "But it won't be real. It'll all be in my head." She watches as he taps a finger to his lips in a thoughtful gesture.

"Of course it is happening inside your head, Simmons, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?"

Simmons groans. "This is not the time for nonsense like that."

"Or, it's the perfect time," Eneff counters. "You've spent the last two years running from one terror to the next. You deserve a break, don't you think? A chance to have everything you want?"

Simmons feels an unexpected anger simmer within her. "But I  _had_  everything I want! We put SHIELD back together, we prevented a war with the Inhumans, Skye was safe, and I had . . ."

She stops cold when she sees the way he tenses up, looking at her like she's some wild animal. She forces herself to calm down. "I'm sorry," she repeats, "it's just that I had . . ."

"A date?"

She gives him a stern look. "I lost my best friend, and I got him back. And we were . . . we were better than before, somehow. And we were going to . . . we were going to start being . . ."

"More?" He raises his eyebrows at her. "Really, Simmons, it took you eleven years to realize that the man by your side was actually the love of your life, even _after_  he told you that you were his, and _then_  it took a friend almost dying for you to get the courage to tell him. It's not like your life is some Disney princess movie. But, like I said, you have the power to change all that. Just like you were doing yesterday. You can create your own world, Simmons. Neat and tidy, just the way you like it. And Fitz will be there, exactly the way you want him to be. Really, I don't see why you're having such a problem with this."

Simmons folds her arms. "Fitz would never talk like that. And I won't let him sit there and wonder where I've gone. I won't hurt him again." She can remember the look on his face when she lied and left, and the wonder in his eyes when she finally told him the truth. She looks down at her hands, feeling a weight pressing down on her shoulders. 

"Simmons," Not-Fitz says, "he's going to come find you. You know that."

The moment he says it, she feels it in her bones. If there's one thing she knows, it's that Fitz won't give up on her. Not now. And he'd be able to see things more clearly, see the way out when all she can see is the maze.

"And," he continues, "why not right a few wrongs while you're waiting? Why not use this time to find a little closure?"

_Closure_. That was a keyword in Bobbi's report from when . . .

_Closure_.

It only takes Simmons a moment to decide exactly what she wants to do.

She scrambles to the corner of the pod, and the rigged defibrillator is exactly where she expects it to be. She attaches their compressed explosive to the glass, the defibrillator to the explosive, and when she pushes the button, she takes in a big breath.

* * *

"Get back!"

She feels the hands that hold her arms in place as Ward rushes in with the medical supplies.

"I'm glad that I did it," Fitz crows, "you hear me? You lose, we win!"

He's restrained, too, but he's beaming with pride at the figure that's slumped on the floor.

"You're dead," Garrett growls.

"I'm not worse than you," Fitz counters, turning to their former teammate, "and you don't have to take orders from him anymore. Ward. Ward!" The traitor meets the hero's eyes. "Let him die. He deserves to die!"

There's a moment where she thinks that it's all over, that the months of trust and friendship actually mean something to the monster. There's a sliver of regret in those eyes, until . . .

"Get them out of here!"

In a moment, they're being forced through the double doors into a lab—their lab—and she's trying to keep breathing.

"Coulson will find us, won't he?"

"The man won't rest until every Hydra agent is either dead or behind bars," spits Fitz, and in one fluid motion, he overturns a chair behind them, and they're running through the space that they know so well. Fitz is telling her to go, he's locking the doors behind them, and he's saving them. They run, and they run, and they're going to make it until Ward appears out of nowhere and comes straight for them.

"Oh," she cries, "oh no, Fitz!"

He gets in front of her and finds the door to the storage pod, and when Ward is right on their heels, he's about to usher her in when she thinks better of it, and pulls him out of the way. When Ward crashes into the pod, she slams the door shut and has it locked before she realizes what she's done. They're out of breath, but when she reaches out her hand, Fitz takes it.

"Open the door, Fitz!"

Ward is seething, angrier than he was with a berserker staff in his hand, and she tightens her grip on Fitz's hand. 

"Ward," Fitz pleads, still catching his breath, "please, I need to understand."

"You need to accept the truth, Fitz," she says bitterly, guiding his eyes to hers with a hand on his cheek. "He doesn't care about us, or anything."

"No." Fitz puts a hand over hers, and the tears that are going to spill from him makes her regret her tone. "I don't believe that. We're friends aren't we?" He looks down at their joined hands. "We've been friends; we've had laughs together."

"You and I are friends, Fitz," she argues, " _you_  and _I_. He betrayed us, but we're going to be okay. We have each other." She lets go of his hand to cup his other cheek, holding his face in her hands and feeling him lean into her touch. "We'll always have each other, won't we?"

Fitz closes his eyes. "Jemma, I—I know that he's a good person." The tears are now flowing freely. "He can choose, right now, to be good. It's a choice."

"But he won't, Fitz, you know he won't. Garrett sent him to kill us." Her fingers migrate from his cheek to his hair, and his eyelids flutter as she combs through his curls. "He's going to kill us, Fitz. Unless we stop him."

"Jemma, what are you—" He opens his eyes to let them ask the question he can't, and she smiles and nods.

"I won't let him hurt you, Fitz. Not when I . . ." A tear escapes and trickles down her cheek, but his eyes don't leave hers.

Fitz's eyebrows approach his hairline in a silent question.

She nods as the tears come in earnest, and she almost knows what to say when there's a banging on the pod door, and they both turn to their captive.

"You know what we have to do, Fitz," she says.

His face is all confusion until he follows her gaze to the control panel and he gasps.

"No!"

She's surprised when it's Ward, not Fitz, who tries to stop her.

"Wait, Simmons, just think about this."

"Yeah," Fitz says, nodding, "yeah, we can't just kill our . . . our . . ."

"He killed Victoria Hand, Fitz. And Thomas Nash, and who knows how many others. If we let him out, he'll kill us; you know he will. And he's working for Garrett, and Garrett got Skye shot. We have to do it."

Fitz looks at Ward, then back at her, and he hesitates for a moment before putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Alright."

"Alright," she says. "Together?"

He nods. "Together."

They move in unison, punching in the commands while Ward starts barking out threats. When they've overridden all the safety measures, she turns back to look at him.

"I'm disappointed in you, Simmons," Ward sneers.

"Don't worry, Ward," she says, pulling the release lever. "Maybe the pod will float."

Ward is about to say something else when the pod shifts, and he's knocked off balance. When he tumbles backwards, and the pod itself careens into the ocean below, she finds Fitz's hands clutching her waist. She turns to plant a kiss on his temple.

"We did it."

It's at that very moment when a Hydra agent rounds the corner and shoots. Fitz falls on the floor as blood pools in the very spot blessed by Jemma's lips. Before she can let out a scream, a bullet finds her, too.

* * *

She wakes up back in the pod, and there he is, staring down at her. She groans and clutches at her head.

"What happened?"

"Don't look at me," Eneff says, "you're the one who mucked up your own fantasy world by getting your boyfriend shot in the head."

She shakes her head at the memory and pushes herself up into a sitting position. She stares at her hands.

"Good thing it was all in my head then," she says, more to herself than to her companion. "That means Fitz is still okay, back at the Playground. And I'm still here, in the . . . the Nexus." She lets a silent moment pass before deciding that the name feels right.

"Well," Eneff offers, examining a packaged shot of epinephrine, "at least you kept your promise. You killed Ward."

"Yeah," she says, the realization pouring over her like wet concrete, "yeah, I did. I thought it'd feel different than this."

"Ah, well." Fitz points the packaged needle at her. "That's how you feel now. But, I bet it felt great then."

She feels the release lever in her hands, and her whole body gets heavier and heavier. "No," she admits. "No, it didn't. It felt awful. Just like when I—"

"When you killed Bakshi? Well, it had to be done. Everyone knows that."

"Yes." She finds herself nodding with vigor. "Yes, I had to. But it wasn't . . . I mean it  _felt real_ , all of it, and the way Fitz looked at me—it was perfect. So I don't understand why . . ."

A silence grows in the stale air as Eneff stops his rummaging to look at her.

"So," he says, "try again."

Simmons raises an eyebrow. "Again?"

He shrugs. "Why not? The real Fitz will find you soon enough. See how many times you can kill Ward before he gets here. That's the best therapy I can think of." He pauses as his expression grows thoughtful. "And you're a biochemist, so you know more methods of killing a man than most people can dream of."

"True," she says, finding herself nodding. But she can't help but feel the way her hands shake. "Maybe." She's a scientist, after all, and failure in one trial only means that she'll have to change the variables in the next one. So, what if the Hydra agent that shot her didn't exist? What if the rest of the team was there to help subdue Garrett? What if, what if, what if . . .

She pauses, and a flash of fury surges through her.

"What does it matter?"

Eneff flinches, apparently startled. "Hmm?"

Her eyes search the bulkheads above her until she ends up staring out the small window, taking breaths to calm herself down. "Why dream up some fantasy of killing Ward when he's safe and sound in the real world? I can't hurt him from here."

He takes a moment to think about this. "Like I said: therapy. When you're here, you can do all the things that you always wanted to do, but without any consequences. So, get it all out of your system now, so you'll be ready when Fitz comes for you."

She cocks her head at him. "Why do I need to . . ."

Eneff gives her a sad smile. "You know why."

His words are like a stab in the heart, and she knows what he means. So much has happened to her these past few months, and she's been careful to keep it in check, to keep it hidden. But the rational part of her knows the second law of thermodynamics, and it's inevitable that the arrow of time would push her carefully-ordered trauma into chaos. If she unwraps it now, what harm can it do? At the very worst, she'll just end up back here.

This time, she grabs the defibrillator with a renewed determination, and when the window bursts, she holds out her arms and is embraced by the deep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jemma Simmons is an actual Disney princess; pass it on.
> 
> The nonsense Simmons was referring to was, of course, a quote from Dumbledore, and one of my favorite Harry Potter quotes of all time.


	3. Limbo, Part Two

Simmons has to actually bite her tongue in order to keep from screaming as Victoria Hand insists on listening to Coulson, May, Garrett, and Fitz through one of her hidden devices. She should be going to them,  _to him_ , but Hand is unswayed by the words of a lowly level five—only Coulson's will do.

And considering the fact that he is currently planning a hit on Hand herself, it's not going well.

"They think you're the Clairvoyant," Simmons finally argues. "That's the only reason they're doing this. If they knew you were loyal to SHIELD, they'd join us."

"At this moment, there's no telling who they would join," Hand answers, her icy voice a sharp contrast to the fiery streaks in her hair. "We'll have to see where this conversation goes."

Simmons wants to run, to find them, find _Fitz_  and protect him from whatever Hand has in mind, but she's already given Trip his knife back, and it wouldn't do her much good, anyway. Before she plans any act of rebellion, an agent clad in tactical gear looks up from a monitor.

"There's a security squad headed straight for them."

Hand looks over at him, her arms still crossed. "SHIELD or Hydra?"

"Unknown."

Simmons takes a shaky breath and clenches her fists. May is with them. And Garrett. They could defeat an entire squadron of double agents, couldn't they?

Her train of thought is cut off when Coulson says something that throws the entire room into silence.

"Garrett is the Clairvoyant?"

Simmons never expected Hand to be capable of a shriek, but the commander has her gun locked and loaded before the biochemist can process the data.

"We will apprehend the Clairvoyant at all costs," Hand orders. "Let's move."

This time, Simmons doesn't have to struggle to keep up with the pack—she's practically leading it. But as they arrive at the scene, she hears three distinct gunshots from the other side of the steel door and finds herself screaming her best friend's name. She reaches for the door, but is held back, and it's not until they hear the sonic wave released by the thunderstick that they turn the handle for her.

"Hands up!" shouts one of Hand's men.

"Drop your weapon!" commands another. 

Jemma doesn't waste any time, and as soon as hands aren't holding her back, she races into Fitz's arms.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," assures Fitz, "did they hurt you?"

She pulls back from the embrace and smiles at him, using her thumb to swipe at the tears on his cheek.

"I'm okay now."

Before he can respond, she leans forward and crushes her lips into his, feeling how he goes stiff for a moment before relaxing and kissing her back. His hand moves to the nape of her neck, she's pulling him closer, and when they have to break for air, he leans his forehead against hers. 

"Jemma?"

She meets his inquiring gaze with a smile. "I'm announcing my intentions," she breathes, "that's the theme for today, isn't it?"

Fitz stares in stunned silence for a moment before bringing her in for another kiss. She gets so wrapped up in the comfort of his lips that Coulson has to tap her on the shoulder and remind her to share her intel.

"It's Ward—he's Hydra," Jemma reports, "Weaver told me. We have to get him in custody. Now."

Coulson nods in understanding and directs them out in the hallway. Simmons refuses to leave until Fitz's fingers are threaded through hers. 

"He's not really Hydra, is he?"

She looks up at his worried expression and squeezes his hand.

"I'm afraid he is. Recruited by Garrett himself."

Fitz starts to say something when he's cut off by shouts that escalate into gunshots. She feels him tug her behind him before she knows what happened.

"Hydra?" 

"I don't know," Fitz whispers, "let's sit tight, let them sort it out."

Her hand is still clasped in his, and she has to remember to breathe when he presses his full body against her. He's trying to shield her, she knows, but she was so far away from him just moments ago, and now she's closer than she's ever been. Before she can truly react, the gunshots stop with a groan, and she hears Coulson shouting orders. Fitz pokes his head around the corner, then turns back to signal the all clear. She grabs hold of his hand and lets him lead her to where Ward kneels with his hands behind his head, and Coulson holds him at gunpoint. 

"He tried to hold Skye hostage, but she's okay," Coulson says, nodding to where a terrified Skye gives a hesitant thumbs up. "Looks like he'll be going to the Fridge with his former CO."

Two agents, still in suits, approach to handcuff Ward, and Coulson withdraws with a nod. He's about to put his pistol in its holster when he pauses, then hands the weapon to Jemma.

"Just in case," he says, giving them both a smile before walking off. When Jemma offers Fitz a shrug, he returns the gesture.

"It was you, wasn't it?"

Simmons turns to see the threatening gaze Ward has leveled at her. "You betrayed me."

Simmons straightens. "You betrayed all of us," she shoots back.

"Well," he says with a chuckle, "I only started. I'm not quite finished yet."

Before she can respond, Ward grabs one agent by the tie, slams him into the other, and stands. Before she knows what she's doing, Jemma finds her gun pointed right at him.

"You're not going to hurt him," she says. It's supposed to be a warning, but it comes out as a plea, and as she feels Fitz's hand on her shoulder, she finds that the gun won't stay steady.

"Oh," Ward responds with a smirk, "then how am I supposed to punish you?"

He lunges for her like a tiger hunting prey, but she squeezes the trigger and watches him crumple to the ground as the sound of the gunshot reverberates off the walls.

Jemma Simmons has never stood over a man who was bleeding out. She has knelt over them, twisting to grab the bandages behind her, desperate to stop the bleeding. This time, however, she watches him with calm curiosity.

"You're not going to hurt him," she says. It only takes a few moments before his eyelids stop fluttering. She expects a cool peace to flood through her.

It doesn't.

"Jemma?"

She's about to tell him that it's okay, that Ward deserves to die, but instead she looks at him and screams. Blood is gushing from the same spot where she shot Ward, right in his heart, and she manages to catch him before he hits the ground. Her mind is whirling a mile a minute, because there was one gunshot,  _only one_ , and he was supposed to be safe. She's trying her best to patch him up, but her eyesight blurs as she realizes that it's too late. There are no hyperbaric chambers for her to put him in, no GH-325 for her to administer, only fear and panic as she watches the life drain out of the person she loves most.

She's just about to break into sobs when she feels a hand close around hers. She meets Fitz's eyes, and he can't speak, but at times like these, he doesn't have to.

She reaches down and kisses him deeply, desperately, until there is no life left in him.

* * *

When she finds herself back in the pod, she's ready to tear Eneff's head off. She pushes off the floor to leap upright.

"What  _was_  that?"  

Not-Fitz looks so small below her, and her heart softens when the sees the confusion in his eyes.

"I, uh, I don't know. You dreamed it."

Eneff points a shaking finger at her, and he's not her best friend, he's really not, but she can't stand to see that look on  _that_  face. She pushes her feelings aside, then lowers herself into a crouch so she can hold his hand in hers.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, and she's relieved when she sees the hint of a smile. When he gives her a nod, she moves assorted medical supplies to clear a space and collapses onto the floor.

After a few moments of tense silence, he jokes, "Maybe Fitz can bring Dr. Garner when he comes."

She eyes him curiously. "You mean this place isn't the best therapy for me after all?"

"Oh, I didn't mean that," he answers, "I just mean that you've got a lot more work to do than we initially thought."

She looks at him for a long moment, staring at his clean face and innocent expression. He isn't Fitz, but she desperately wants him to be, and for a moment it almost seems okay to take his hand in hers and snuggle up beside him. How cruel is she, to put herself in this exact place with someone who is almost what she wants most? She should dream up another Nexus, with a Skye or a Bobbi to help her figure this out. 

"So," Eneff says, "where do you go next? The Academy? Or maybe you go back to the first time you tried to kill Ward, and bring two splinter bombs?"

The image of it nauseates her.

"No," she answers, "I don't think so."

She pulls up her legs so she can lean against the wall and hug her knees, softly thunking her head against the metal to shake her thoughts loose. The nausea is still sitting in the pit of her stomach, and there's a foul taste in her mouth when she thinks of the look on Ward's lifeless face. He was surprised, almost as much as she was at the emptiness she felt. She's killed him twice now, and yet, she has a feeling that she could end him a thousand times in the Nexus, or in reality, and she would still feel like this. Not guilty, but  _wrong_.  _So wrong_.

And, really, is it up to her to execute him?

Was she put on this Earth to end life, or to protect it?

She puts her head on her knees and feels a need to shrug the weight off of her shoulders. Killing, it seems, does not suit her at all.

So, the third thing Jemma learns is that she doesn't need to kill Ward, after all. She doesn't even want to. What she does want is another mystery entirely.

"Okay," Eneff prods, "where to, then?"

She looks over to give him a weak smile. 

"I don't want to go anywhere just now."

He cocks his head at her. "That last one really did a number on you, didn't it? Watching Fitz die?"

She lets out a groan. "Don't remind me. It doesn't even make sense! There was no one to shoot him."

Eneff smiles. "Dreams don't always make sense." 

"Nothing here makes sense," she says. 

They sit there for a silent moment as the truth of her statement unfolds before them. Jemma Simmons does not believe in unsolvable mysteries or unfixable problems, and yet, she has managed to find herself trapped within both. Even as she hears her companion breathe beside her, she feels like she's miles away from anyone, and maybe she is. She looks around the storage pod and wonders if this is how Fitz felt as she slept, calculating distances and finding despair in every answer. He even found hopelessness in the answer she gave him, long before she saw it herself. 

Maybe that's why her subconscious chose this spot as the perfect metaphor for her predicament; there is no way out, unless someone comes to rescue her, the way Fury rescued them. This time, though, there's no need to send out a distress call. The monitoring equipment she and Fitz set up in the Playground is more than sufficient to alert the team of her status. And it's not like there is a surface she can reach. Really, all she can do is sit here and wait for Fitz to figure out a way to save her. 

Right?

Then why does the very thought of it feel so unsettling?

After all, Fitz will come; she knows that. She won't underestimate his dedication to her a second time. But it's actually the Fitz part of the equation that she finds so troubling. He was her willing companion when she thought this was real, yes, and she supposes that it's only natural for her brain to create a fantasy in which her lips are fused to his. But, in a place where she can have whatever she wants, why do things fall apart? Why is there so much chaos?

She goes through the series of events again, trying to find a way to make sense of it all. Dreams are just symbols, after all, and she isn't exactly a psychology professor, but she should be about to make sense of metaphors created by her own brain.

"Don't bother," Eneff says; "you're looking a gift horse in the mouth, you are."

She turns to him in disbelief. "Horses are expensive and impractical."

"Right," he counters, "you'd prefer a koala."

She rolls her eyes and tries not to smile.

"Keeping a koala as a pet would be impractical _and_  illegal."

"Not for scientists," he says, and she doesn't have to see his face to know the kind of grin he's wearing. Jemma sighs. 

"That's beside the point."

"Oh," Eneff exclaims, "there's a point?"

"Yes," she answers, "of course there's a point! I feel like I'm missing something, only I can't figure out what it is."

Eneff shakes his head at her. "You know what it is."

It's the look of exasperation in his eyes that explains what he means, because it's the same point he's been making all along. But if anything, her exploits in these fantasy realms have only seemed to be making things worse. Surely, she was smart enough to leave herself a clue, at least?

She recalls all the places the Nexus has taken her: the meadow, the lab, her house, Fitz's house. Then the meadow again, then here. Then the Bus, right when the world was falling apart. Then, the Hub, before she knew how bad it could get. Some of these were conscious choices, some not, but if they are meant to follow some kind of pattern, Jemma can't find it.

Then, her mouth hangs open as she realizes that there has been a constant—each of her fantastic adventures have ended with Fitz's death. The more she looks back on her experiences in the Nexus, the more obvious it is that her subconscious is sending her one clear message:

"Fitz is in trouble," she says.

She feels like the pod is collapsing in on her, like she is shrinking to the size of an ICER bullet, and smaller. 

The fourth thing she learns is that she has to save _herself_  from the Nexus, and she has to do it  _now_.

* * *

"No," Eneff repeats, "it won't work. I don't know why you insist that it will."

Jemma lets out a sigh and makes sure he can see the way her eyes roll.

"When I blow the window in, I go to another place I dreamt up. And when I die there, I come back here. So, it only stands to reason that if I die in here, I end up back in reality."

"Or," Eneff argues, "you end up in a deeper layer of the Nexus. Remember  _Inception_?"

Jemma massages her temples. "You know I watched  _Inception_ , Fitz made m—"

"Well, I don't think you should take the chance."

Her anger comes so quickly at such an intensity that she doesn't care that he takes a step back in horror. They've been arguing about this for ages now, and why does she need to consult him at all, when he's just a figment of her imagination? 

"If Fitz is in trouble, I have to help him, and that's final. I don't care if I have to take chances."

Eneff shakes his head. "You don't even know that he's in trouble in the first place. And you left him in the safest place a SHIELD agent can be."

She turned to him, desperately trying to keep her emotions in check. "Why do you insist that he's _not_  in trouble? You've already said that you don't know more about the Nexus than I do." She folds her arms and silently dares him to speak, finding a strange sense of justification when he cowers before her. She rolls up her sleeve, raises the prepared epinephrine cocktail in one, shaking hand, and injects the serum into her arm.

She knows the symptoms, and even an imaginary epinephrine overdose does not disappoint. She feels her strength leave her, then sensation altogether as she plunges into numbness. Within seconds, she collapses to the floor, gasping for breath, and just before she goes into a seizure, she smiles.

* * *

"There. I think she's waking up."

"Let's hope she has some answers for us."

Jemma is drowning in hazy exhaustion, but her heart leaps when she hears Coulson's voice. Her obvious success makes her smile, but her heart starts racing when she becomes aware of a certain presence to her left, and though she can't see him, she knows how intently he's watching her.

"Well, I don't know why you, you brought me in here," Fitz mutters, "especially after the way she m-mucked things up."

"She was calling your name, Fitz," says Bobbi, "you're sure you don't want to talk to her?"

"Why sh-should I?" Fitz lets out an exasperated sigh. "I don't even know who she is."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The koalas in this chapter are brought to you by Elizabeth Henstridge's recent-ish trip to Australia, where she took a bunch of pictures of herself with a stuffed koala. How am I supposed to NOT headcanon Simmons as a koala enthusiast now, hmm? It's clearly impossible.


	4. Purgatory, Part One

Reality, it seems, is not all it's cracked up to be.

As frustrating as it is to be stuck in a hospital bed when there is work to be done, it is certainly maddening when people refuse to take any direction. Apparently, it doesn't matter that Jemma Simmons— _Agent_  Jemma Simmons, double PhD, head of the science division—knows more about medicine than anyone in charge of her care, since no one will even give her the courtesy of acknowledging her identity. 

And as awful as it is to spend what feels like forever being treated like a thing instead of a person, it's even worse to do so in quarantine.

Her only comfort is that she should be let out soon, assuming that they get the tests done properly. If she and Fitz were in charge, she's sure it all would have been done by now. But, as far as she can tell, the only orders come directly from Coulson, and Fitz is nowhere to be seen. She frowns at the realization as Mack enters the room, coming to stand on the other side of the glass with folded arms and a glare.

"We're gonna need another sample."

Simmons rolls her eyes. "I've told you before: you need Fitz to calibrate the equipment, or the results will never come out right." 

Mack sighs. "So you've said. I still need another sample."

She stands up at that, meeting his gaze and folding her arms to match him. "You can't draw my blood. You're not qualified."

They stand there for a while, challenging each other with defiant stillness. Mack looks down at her like she's a puzzle he can't quite solve, but it only takes him a few moments before his stoic lips break into a frown.

"That's why she's gonna do it," he says. He tilts his head to the left, and she follows the movement to find Bobbi clad in a hazmat suit. She's only barely hiding a wince, and Jemma feels the anxiety well up in her with every step the specialist takes.

"You should be resting," Jemma says. Bobbi gives a crooked smile in response, then lets herself in. 

"We're more worried about you right now. Come on."

Jemma hesitates, because she can only imagine how Bobbi's been trained to use needles. But when she looks over at Mack, and sees how he's actually holding back tears, she relents. She may not understand any of this, but she's not going to be the one who makes it harder for Bobbi.

Bobbi inserts the needle with care, almost like she's trying to prove that she can, and Jemma doesn't complain about the pinch. She's actually a little impressed that Bobbi was able to find a vein so quickly. Soon enough, the deed is done, and Bobbi leaves with a vial that will hopefully be of use to someone.

She turns to see Mack, who is clearly angry now. He must like this even less than she does. Jemma isn't sure how much time has passed since she left, but the look in Mack's eyes are enough to tell her that it wasn't long enough for Bobbi to be cleared for duty. And Jemma, of all people, knows that there were plenty of other people who could draw blood. Do they really think she's that dangerous? And if so, why didn't they ask . . .

"May," Jemma whispers, as it slots into place. "She's still on vacation, and Coulson's not going to call her back."

Instead of commenting, Mack continues to watch her, and it's the first time she's really paid attention to the man. As tall and strong as he is, she can feel the way he's starting to unravel right in front of her. If he knew about Jemma's involvement, well, Jemma's culpability for Bobbi's injuries, she's not sure what he would do.

"You need to get Fitz to calibrate the equipment," she says, in what she hopes is a soothing tone, "and then you'll see there's nothing to worry about. Bobbi can rest knowing I'm not a danger to anyone."

"Oh," he groans, "that simple, huh?"

His eyes bore into hers with such intensity that she has to look away, nodding with more confidence than she feels.

"Yes, of course it is."

Mack shakes his head. "You just fell out of a scary alien _thing_ , and you claim to know all of us, even though we don't have any record of you. And you say one blood test is going to clear all that up?" 

Her brows knit together, and she has to remind herself that Mack is not her enemy.

"One blood test will show you that I'm not an alien, at least. Please, Mack, if you just let me talk to Fitz, I'm sure I can—"

"I'm not letting Fitz anywhere near you, you understand? Not until I'm sure what you are."

She takes a breath. "I'm your friend."

When she dares to look into his eyes, she finds them aflame.

"Then why don't I remember you?" He all but shouts it. "Why don't  _any of us_  remember you?" 

Her mouth snaps shut, and she knows that she'll start crying, in front of Mack of all people, if she doesn't think of something soon. Her brain is in overdrive trying to find something,  _anything_  to say, because this is her home, and if she doesn't belong here, where will she go? This is where her friends are, and her career, and Fitz. Anywhere else would feel like exile. She's at a loss, and it seems that Mack is too, because he gives her a sigh and walks out. It's just as he's about to disappear through the door frame that it comes to her.

"What if I told you that Fury sent me?"

That, apparently, is enough to make Mack stop in his tracks.

* * *

She's sure that at any moment, they're going to find her out, but the blood work seems to have bought her some goodwill. Now that she's been confirmed human and disease-free, they've moved her out of quarantine and into a room that is not hers. As soon as she figures out exactly why Nicholas Fury would trap an agent in an alien rock and set her loose again, she can start tackling bigger problems, like the disturbing lack of Fitz in the Playground.

He's around somewhere, he has to be, but he must be staying in one of the areas that Coulson has declared off limits. It's probably the lab, but she never sees him when she casually strolls through the corridor. She almost wonders if he's hiding in his room, but she hasn't had the courage to test this particular hypothesis. Besides, it would be a bad idea draw any suspicion just now.

"Hungry?"

She turns to find Skye, who is peeking through the crack in her open door. Skye holds a tray of what looks like salad, bread, and water. Jemma isn't hungry, but she gives a thankful smile anyway.

Without a word, Skye enters the room and places the tray on Jemma's nightstand while Jemma watches, tugging at the bracelet on her wrist. It wasn't too long ago that Skye had a bracelet like this, though the woman that stands before her now is a far cry from the hacker they found in that van. She has the same smile, though, the kind that's bigger than it has any right to be. Skye's always been brave like that.

She's about to walk out of the room when Jemma calls out her name.

"Yes?"

The question is on the tip of her tongue, but she finds that she can't look at Skye while she asks it.

"Well, um, I was wondering if . . . if you knew what they're going to do with me? And if . . . you knew when I could talk to Fitz?"

There's a hardness, now, that Jemma has started to see lately. Skye purses her lips.

"They're, uh, they're bringing someone in to evaluate you," she answers.

"Oh." Simmons furrows her brow, "The lie detector isn't enough? Or is Koenig on assignment?"

Skye simply stares back, her smile completely faded now. "Someone else. Someone who specializes in this."

_Oh._

"Dr. Garner," Simmons concludes, earning a nod from Skye. "And what about Fitz?"

The glare she gets from Skye is part curiosity, part caution. "He's off limits for now."

Simmons cocks her head. "You mean, until Dr. Garner gives the okay."

Skye gives a shrug with her nod, and soon Jemma is alone again.

* * *

She's been playing with her bracelet for a full five minutes before Dr. Garner arrives. She straightens in her chair immediately, and his smile only seems to add fuel to her anxiety.

"Miss Simmons, I presume," he greets, reaching out a hand for her to shake.

"Yes;  _Agent_  Simmons. We've met before, actually." She tries to give him a firm handshake, one that shows her confidence, and she's not sure if he's surprised by her words or her grip.

"So I've heard. Seems like you're friends with everybody around here."

He sits down in his chair and looks at her with a strange serenity that makes her wring her hands.

"Well, uh, not  _everybody_ , really. Just the ones I worked with. I was on Coulson's team on the Bus, with May and the others, and then I went undercover at Hydra for a bit, then I was here, at the Playground."

"Hmm." Dr. Garner leans back in his chair to consult his notes. "And what did you do here?"

"Biochemistry," Simmons shoots back, with a little more force than she meant. "I, uh, I was head of the science division, as well."

Dr. Garner gives her another, "Hmm," before looking up to meet her eyes. "And can you explain why there is absolutely no evidence to support your story?"

Simmons watches her hands and takes a deep breath. She's been trained to lie, but is it wise? She's not sure how long she'd be able to keep it up, and if Fury ever managed to come back . . .

"No, I can't. I mean, I'd love to run some tests, but my guess is . . ." She looks up to find a grim look on the psychologist's face. "My guess is you wouldn't care for that."

"I guess not," he replies. "So your story about Nick Fury—"

"I made it up. I just . . . I wanted to give Mack something he'd believe so he'd get me out of that box."

"I see." His tone is as calm as ever, and it's driving her mad.

"Was that the wrong thing to say? Does it mean you won't trust me now?"

It's when he folds his arms and studies her that she realizes that she hates psychologists, and she always has. Soft sciences, in general, are infuriating. There would be no real answers with him, only theories and speculation that would lead to nothing.

"I wouldn't say that," he finally answers. "But it'd be a lot easier for you to gain my trust if I understood why you lied."

She rolls her eyes at him. "To get out of the box; I already told you."

Dr. Garner gives her the sort of smile that's usually reserved for small children. "Well, I'm sure that's your reason for why you lied, but I'm interested in the _real_  reason." 

Jemma finds herself taking a in deep breath and fuming it out like a dragon. This, obviously, is a waste of time. Time she could be spending looking at brain scans, or detecting hormonal changes. Time she could be using to figure out how to get things back to normal.

"Jemma?"

"Simmons," she corrects.

"Sorry,  _Simmons_." He gives a self-deprecating shake of the head that seems entirely for her benefit. "Do you know why you wanted to get out of the box, Simmons?"

She blinks at him. "To figure out why you can't remember me. To get my life back."

His smile widens. "So, this is all about your job?"

It's his warm, even tone that gets to her. He should be accusing her, or sympathizing with her, or  _something_. Her life has fallen apart, not once, but over and over again, and the least he could do is  _care_.

Because if he did, he would know that it wasn't about her job, and it never was. Not even before. It was about science. It was about exploration and discovery, and it was about using the big brain of hers to do some good. It was about helping people, really. It was about people.

"No," she finally answers, using all her concentration not to shout it. "It's—you need me. I can help you."

Dr. Garner raises an eyebrow. "So you're here to save us?"

"Yes! No." She shakes her head. "I'm . . . I'm here to help. I know things that you don't. What if it's not just me? What if there are other things that you're forgetting? What if I'm the only person who can see what's been taken from you?"

Dr. Garner adds to his notes. "And if you do show us what we're forgetting—assuming, of course, that you can convince us that we've lost something in the first place—what happens then?"

Jemma frowns. "I . . . well once you remember, things go back to the way they were. I resume my duties as a SHIELD agent, I get my friends back, and everyone's happy."

"So," Dr. Garner says, "you're saying that we're not happy now."

Honestly, it's like he's  _trying_  to misunderstand her.

"I'm not saying that, I'm just saying—" She pinches the bridge of her nose and closes her eyes. "Right now, you are not seeing the world as it really is. You're living in some kind of shared delusion. I want to help bring you out of that delusion."

"Well, Simmons," he replies, "have you ever thought that maybe we are happier living in this so-called delusion?"

Simmons scowls at him. "No."

"I thought you wanted us to be happy."

"Of course I do."

"Then what if we're happier without you?"

It's like being slapped in the face, and she physically recoils. " _What_?" 

"I said," Dr. Garner clarifies, "what if we're happier without you? What if I can prove to you that we don't actually need you at all? What will you do then?" 

She opens her mouth, then closes it, and this is all too familiar. This is packing a duffel bag and getting on a midnight flight. This is entering a new apartment that's already decorated to fit the person she's supposed to be.

"Well," she says, swallowing, "if that truly is the case, then I'll leave. I'll go somewhere I can be of use."

His smile is gone now, and he takes a moment to study her once more. "And you really think that you can do that?"

She sets her mouth in a thin, determined line as her heart breaks. "I already have."

He seems pleased by her answer, though she's not sure why. She's not sure why he's done any of this, really. It's almost sadistic, the way he pokes at old wounds that are supposed to have healed. The way he makes her bleed. She's the one that people call cold and calculating, but Dr. Garner? He's practically a robot. A monster. And he's getting in her way.

She hates the way the corners of his mouth turn upward, because it reminds her of Ward, and isn't one betrayal the same as another?

"So, you really will leave? If you can't prove to us that you're right?"

She blinks away a hot tear. "Yes."

"Okay."

She looks up at him. "Okay? What does that mean?"

Dr. Garner adds a few scribbles to his notes and tucks the notebook under his arm. "It means that I have everything I need to complete my assessment. Our session is over."

"Well," she starts, still wrapping her head around this, "wh-what are you going to recommend?" 

"That," Dr. Garner says, "is for Coulson to find out. I expect you'll get the news soon enough."

He stands up and walks out, and sudden urgency seizes her.

"Dr. Garner?"

He stops and turns to face her, and her cheeks grow warm. 

"Is, uh, is Fitz happy?"

The sadness in his eyes tells her all she needs to know.


	5. Purgatory, Part Two

It's a while later when Coulson allows her in the lab, under close supervision. Bobbi has to watch her at all times, but at least the specialist-turned-scientist (or was she always a scientist?) seems to be up to the task this time. Jemma treads carefully, doing exactly what is asked and expected of her, to make Bobbi's job as easy as possible and gain back their trust. 

"So," prods Bobbi, "you found anything yet?"

Simmons shakes her head and squints at yet another slide, determined that the growing frustration won't get to her.

"What is it you expect to find, anyway?"

"I'm not sure."

Simmons knows that her handler is merely pumping her for information, but there's really no reason to keep anything to herself. The only thing she's worried about is that it's almost lunch, and Fitz still hasn't arrived in the lab. And as far as she can tell, he hasn't been in the lab at all since she's been here.

Honestly, he's the whole reason she came back, and she still hasn't been able to figure out why he's in so much trouble.

By the end of the day, when she's looking at several PET scans (past and present, of her brain and those of several other agents on the compound), and finding nothing that even hints at the problem, she is fed up enough to come out and ask it.

"Is Fitz in the garage?"

Bobbi looks up at her. "Hmm?"

"Fitz," Jemma replies, "does he have responsibilities that are keeping him from being in the lab?"

Bobbi's face goes blank, and Jemma can sense the things that are being kept from her.

"Fitz has . . . other things to worry about."

"Such as?"

Bobbi folds her arms. "You're intent on seeing him, aren't you?" She takes a step towards Jemma, narrowing her gaze. "In this . . . alternate history, or wherever you say you're from, you and Fitz . . . you were a _thing_ , weren't you?"

Jemma feels the warmth in her cheeks, and she tries to hide her blush, even though she knows there's no use.

"Fitz and I . . . we go back a long ways, that's all."

She's embarrassed enough at the question, but her own answer makes her want to crawl under a rock. It's childish, she knows, to try to hide her feelings at this point, especially from Bobbi, but she can't make herself say it. Instead, she endures her handler's scrutiny.

"So," Bobbi finally says, "it was _that_ kind of a thing, huh? Lots of unresolved sexual tension?"

She can't bear the rise of Bobbi's eyebrows, and Jemma knows her cheeks are only getting redder. Honestly, does she have to be subjected this? Why is it anybody's else's business? She's not even sure if it's Fitz's business, considering that he, like everyone else, has no context in which to place her feelings. So she won't let them be known, won't expose herself in that way. And in order to do that, she'll have to derail Bobbi's train of thought, which means making up some explanation for asking about Fitz. 

"Fitz is my best friend," she starts, not quite sure where she's going, "and I've known him longer than I've been a legal adult, and he's the best engineer SHIELD has." Something she said must have hit a nerve, because Bobbi shifts in a flash of discomfort. "And I'm worried about him, quite frankly. He should be running this lab in my absence, so where is he?" She snaps her mouth shut when other thoughts start to bubble to the surface. What if her arrival upset him somehow? What if he's isolating himself again?

But Bobbi has already seen too much, and Jemma certainly doesn't want to give her more to chew on, so she has to think of a specific, project-related reason for Fitz to walk through the lab doors. Fitz isn't exactly an expert on brain scans, and she can calibrate her own equipment. The only piece of machinery she would actually need help with is—

Of course.

Really, she's surprised that she hasn't thought of this already.

"And if he's not here," Jemma continues, "I don't know how I'm going to get the memory machine to work."

Thankfully, this catches Bobbi's attention. "The memory machine," she deadpans.

"Yes," Simmons confirms, "if the PET scans aren't getting us anywhere, then the memory machine is the next logical avenue of inquiry."

Simmons watches as Bobbi draws herself up to her full height, towering over her. But with every second that passes, Simmons is more sure that she's right. She answers Bobbi's withering gaze with a smile.

Finally, something is going to go her way.

* * *

She manages to get Coulson's approval faster than she thought, and the security measures he requests are exactly what she expected. She and Fitz will be allowed to work without interruption, but Bobbi, Mack, and even Skye will stand guard on the other side of the transparent walls, ready to rush in at the slightest hint of trouble. They'll feel a little like animals in a zoo, but this will give her the opportunity to tackle two mysteries at once, and she'll take it.

Her palms are sweating by the time they're supposed to start, but Fitz has yet to arrive. When she sends a questioning look to Skye, she only gets a shrug in return.

It's twenty minutes later when he finally arrives, and she's so stupidly nervous that it takes her a moment to see the way he hunches over, the way he won't look at her. 

"Fitz?"

That gets him to look her way, but when he still won't meet her eyes, she decides to make it easy for him. 

"Agent Fitz?" She extends a hand for him to shake, and a second or two of silence passes before he takes it. "Jemma Simmons. It's a pleasure to meet you." 

Somehow the words are like daggers to her chest, but she forces herself to stand firm. Fitz's hand slides out of hers.

"Simmons," he repeats. She waits for a moment before she realizes that it's all he plans to say.

"Yes! Or Jemma, if you prefer." She swallows. "Shall we get to work?"

She turns to the machine, but stops when Fitz shakes his head.

"What is it?"

Fitz shuts his eyes and wrings his hands. "I uh, I tr-tried to tell, to tell Coulson," he says, "I don't, don't know remember how to make it work. Just, uh, just bits and pieces."

He's ashamed, and she's heartbroken. She wants to wrap him up in her arms and tell him that it's going to be alright, but that would do more harm than good. Instead, she takes a few steps forward and stops at a respectful distance.

"You, uh, you don't remember this," she says, "but we figured out how to make this work together. I think the pieces you're missing are in here." She taps a finger against her temple, but her smile doesn't seem to be helping. If anything, she's making it worse.

"No! You don't, you don't understand. It's not you, it's . . . there's something wrong with . . . me."

He's crying now, and in front of a person he sees as a stranger. She's seen him broken like this, and the memory is sharp enough to draw blood. From the corner of her eye, she sees Skye clench her fists.

"Fitz."

"They didn't tell you, did they?" He's looking in her eyes now, adding a silent plea to his words. "The, uh, the person you're expecting is . . ." He shakes his head. "Something happened to me."

"Yes, of course," she replies, "the hypoxia."

Fitz narrows his gaze. "What?"

"You were at the bottom of the ocean in a med pod, and you, um, you had trouble breathing on the way up. It affected your speech and motor skills, but you've been working on it. You've made great progress." 

She can't help the way the pride swells in her voice, and she takes a step forward without realizing it. Fitz steps back, shaking his head.

"No, I um, that didn't . . ." Somehow, he's getting even more agitated, and she knows not to try to finish his sentences, but it's so hard to let him struggle. "That didn't happen. It's just that, uh, one day I was normal, and then I woke up, like this."

The world seemed to still, and Jemma could hardly breathe.

"Excuse me?"

Fitz crumbles before her. "I just, I have trouble with . . . words, and some things, they don't make sense, and nobody knows why."

Before she knows it, she's invading the space she already decided to give him, taking his shaking hands in hers. No one has believed her so far, but could he? Could the connection they built over years of hardship pull him over to her side?

"Fitz," she soothes, "I know that I probably sound crazy to you, but I assure you, I understand what's happening. And it doesn't change who you are." His eyes are trained on their joined hands, and she takes comfort in the fact that he hasn't pulled away. "Fitz, I only want to help you. In any way I can. And if you want to remember what happened to you, maybe the memory machine can help. But I can't do this without you, Fitz." Her thumb grazes back and forth over his skin. "Will you help me?"

Once again, Fitz pulls his hands from her gasp, but he does it gently this time. His hands go to fists at his side.

"I'll try," he says, "it's just that the, uh, the machine, it likely works by emitting, emitting-"

"Some form of radiation, yes. Now,  _we_  would scan the brain by injecting a small amount of radiation into the bloodstream."

"A tracer."

"Yes, but this machine works more like an x-ray machine, which is generally a less-effective method of scanning the brain, and yet this technology is somehow capable of manipulating the brain in a way that we'd never seen before. So, in order to determine what kind of radiation the machine produces, we used a-"

"Scintillation detector."

Jemma feels a rush of emotion wash over her as they sync up, coming together like teeth in a zipper. For the very first time since she left the rock, she actually wants to be here. She does a quick scan around the room and yes, here it is, the look of shock and awe that they used to get all the time back at SciOps. It's even more satisfying this time, though, since they've just dispelled a mountain of doubt.

When Fitz turns to her, his eyes widen and his jaw drops. It's like he's seeing her for the first time, and she's only starting to realize just how much she ached for this. He looks at her like an orchid in bloom, like a star gone supernova, like he's never seen anything more beautiful. He points an astonished finger at her.

"You're . . . you're  _like me_ ," he whispers.

The first moment like this was lost in a shuffle of boots and the threat of gunfire, but she is primed and ready to savor this one.

After all, it's a rare privilege to watch somebody fall in love. 

Inside her, a street corner preacher is getting off of her perch to drink a cool glass of water. Only as her heart relaxes does she recognize the pure exhaustion of faith. She's ready to fall into him, to let him wrap her up and sustain her, but as she moves forward, he backs away.

"You're  _like me_ ," he repeats, and she's about to agree when he turns on his heel and runs out.

* * *

Jemma paces in her room, trying to puzzle it out. How did everything fall apart so quickly? But she knows the answer, because she's seen the pain in a Fitz who got hypoxia as a battle scar, but a Fitz who got this dropped into his lap must think that the universe is collapsing on him. And this time, he wouldn't have a Mack who only knew after-Fitz. He wouldn't have anybody.

That's the logic that brings her to his door, and she spends a good ten minutes thinking of something to say, but when she finally has the courage to knock, it's because she has to do  _something_. But when Fitz opens the door, she can see from the look on his face that she's the last person he wants to see.

"I'm sorry!"

The words shoot out of her before he can slam the door in her face, and it seems to work. Fitz stands there, like he's not even sure what she is. He folds his arms and ducks his head.

"Sorry for what?"

She can't stop the smile that forms on her lips, simply because he sounds exactly like himself.

"It doesn't matter," she answers, "whatever it was I did to upset you. I didn't mean to." She plays with the hem of her blouse. "I meant it when I said I only want to help."

She dares to look up at him and finds him staring back.

"Did you . . . did you know me?" Fitz shakes his head. "I mean, did I know you?"

"You knew me better than anyone," she says, only now realizing the truth of it. But there's a lie in it, too, because so often he's misinterpreted her, so often he's misjudged her, and so often it's happened because of what she didn't say. She knows that this is one of those moments, where she can dispel the confusion or feed it, and the fear starts to trickle into her stomach. Suddenly, she misses the Nexus, where things were understood instead of spoken, where they never had to do anything but love each other. But things are so fragile between them now; what if he's not ready to hear it? What if he rejects her? She can't let him reject her.

But Fitz only nods at her, and before she asks why, he says, "Of, of course I do, Because why should it make sense when nothing else does?"

"Do you think," she asks, "that you'd be willing to let me explain?" It's when he takes a small step backwards that she finds herself entering his space once again. "I mean, I don't know how people have been helping you with your . . . with your condition, but I understand what's happening to you. I can help you deal with it."

The look he gives her is a curious mix of skepticism and hope. "You . . . you're an expert?"

She has to look away from his piercing gaze before she unravels. "Something like that, yeah. I know that you can overcome this because you've already done it." Somehow, her hand reaches out to take his. "I've seen it myself."

Fitz looks down at their hands, and this time, he doesn't pull away. 

"I didn't just know you, did I?"

This is the moment, she knows. The moment where she has to say it out loud. Her heart starts to speed up, and it's impossible to breathe. She's panicking, and she really shouldn't, not when he's holding her hand, when he's asked her point blank. This is still the Fitz who would have jumped out of the sky to save her, whether he remembers or not. She knows that somewhere in his heart, he still loves her. She has the perfect opportunity to nurture that love and help it bloom.

But instead, she gives him a smile, promises to see him tomorrow, and walks away.

* * *

It's almost an hour later when she finds herself wandering aimlessly through the corridors, as it is late enough that no one is here to handle her. She feels guilty, weak, and so very stupid that she needs to be even farther away from what she hasn't been able to do. There's a back door that she discovered a long time ago, back when Fitz could barely speak and she couldn't abide the pity any longer, and she's pleased to discover that her restrictive bracelet doesn't prevent her from opening it. She enters her little hiding place, a small courtyard with one stone bench and a mountain of overgrown vines. 

Fitz was definitely right about one thing: nothing makes sense. Dr. Garner thought she had some kind of savior complex, yet they'd let her into the lab. The brain scans seemed to indicate that no mind-altering event had actually occurred, but her instant synchrony with Fitz seemed to prove that there was. And she knew that Fitz needed to know the depths of her feelings for him, and yet she was unable to say the words. It was hard not to feel like she's going mad. 

What if Dr. Garner was right, after all?

What if they really are better off without her?

It's a ridiculous notion, of course. She's letting her emotions consume her. But as much as she tells herself that she knows what she knows, no matter who believes her, there's another part of her that's simply tired of fighting. She isn't made to fight, anyway. She'd rather take Fitz by the hand and run with him back into the rock, where they would be safe from anything that would try to pull them apart.

But she knows that, once again, she's been looking at this all wrong. She tried to fix herself by killing Ward, she tried to wait for Fitz to fix her, and yet she keeps breaking.

She looks up at the stars, and she's not sure that they've ever been so clear. The normal light pollution doesn't seem to blur them in the least. In fact, this is a view she's never seen before, even in the remote locations she'd been on missions. She can see thousands upon thousands of starts in greater clarity, and each twinkle is a flash of light that took centuries to reach her. And she should feel elated at the vision, at the way the Milky Way seems to unfold above her, but there's something about it that seems very, very wrong.

And, now that she thinks of it, there's something wrong with a May that's still on vacation, a Coulson that hides behind his desk, and a hostile Dr. Garner. There's something, too, about the way Bobbi's wounds healed overnight. 

It's when the facts start to pile up around her that she starts to drown in a flash flood of hopelessness.

Nothing is making sense here.

Nothing at all.

And just then, a breeze comes through the courtyard, and it's too slight to make the ivy dance like that. But there it is, leaves pulling off and swirling in a mini tornado, even as she feels the same gust brush gently against her cheek.

It's that moment when everything starts to slot into place, and the fifth thing that Jemma Simmons learns is that this is still the Nexus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheers to all the readers who saw this twist coming mile away!


	6. Hell

Jemma jumps up from the stone bench and starts running. She goes through the door, through the corridors in the Playground, and doesn't stop until she's standing once again in front of the Kree monolith.

"No," she hears him say behind her, "no, you won't."

She turns to see him, this Fitz-who-isn't-Fitz, and the evil grin on his face adds an ugliness she didn't think possible. The wheels are turning now, and for the first time since this started, she's actually  _thinking_. Since the moment she was swallowed up she's been letting people, letting  _him_  frame her perceptions, and she won't do it anymore.

"You're not a figment of my imagination," she shoots back at him, "you're something else. What are you?"

If she thought her heart was pounding with Fitz, it's thundering now, and there's an indignation that's surging through her veins. She stands tall and dares him to challenge her.

"You've had everything you wanted," Not-Fitz shouts, " _everything_. You got your lab, your precious Fitz, your fairy tale ending. But it's not enough for you, is it? You keep ruining it, over and over again. Your own dreams! So, I give you a nightmare, and somehow, you ruined that, too!"

He's red as a tomato, and two tufts of his hair stick up at odd angles as he starts pacing back and forth. A darkness seems to fall over her, and it doesn't take her long to realize that it's coming from  _him_.

"What . . . who are you? What do you want from me?"

He turns to her with a rage that Fitz could never have, and the realization of it seems to change him. His stubble disappears as his skin goes from red to blue, and his skull bulges out to an unusual shape. He's shrinking, too, or at least stooping forward until he's shorter than she is, but much thicker.

"I could have picked anyone," he mutters, "and nobody can say that I didn't have my chances. I could have picked Fury, or Gonzalez, or even Mack, but I  _chose_  you! I chose you because I knew he'd follow, and then I'd have both of you! Don't you understand? I'd have  _both of you_!"

Jemma's heart stops, and she understands that she's known this all long. He's been pushing for this since the moment she met him, and possibly before. 

This whole time, she's been the bait.

"You won't trap him, too," she warns, "I won't let you."

He stops his facing to turn at her and laugh.

"Oh, he'll come for you, Jemma. You know it as well as I do. People keep trying to stop him from sacrificing himself for you, but you know what? I give people what they want. And all we have to do is wait just a little longer."

"No," she spits, "no, he's smarter than that. He won't come in unless he has a way of getting us both out."

She's sure of what she says until he flashes a wicked grin.

"And if it was him that was stuck? If you knew he was alive in here, alone? How long would it take you before you'd care more about being with him than being anywhere else?" Eneff frowns. "No, he's coming, and he'll  _want_  me to take him. He'll be prepared to give up everything if it means he can have you."

She's shaking now, because she can practically see the determination on Fitz's face. They'd promised each other, not in words, but in time, that they'd never be alone. She'd broken that promise to help him heal, but he wouldn't.

Oh, she knows he never would.

Which only proves what she learned before, that she has to save herself to help Fitz.

"Why me?"

He's trying to stall her, she knows, but there's no reason why she can't do the same while she's trying to find an escape hatch.

"If you wanted Fitz," she continues, "you could have just taken him, You didn't need me."

"Oh?" He resumes his pacing. "You think I'd just want  _one_  half of you? You are intelligent on your own, yes, but it'll take both of you to fill the holes."

"Holes?" 

The moment she asks it, she knows what he means. Eneff might have guided her one way or another, but everything she's seen has come from some corner of her mind or another. And yet, she'd had trouble with making grass bend the right way in the breeze. She understands how it works, of course. She can imagine grass growing from a seed to a full blade, and explain it down to the molecular level. But the breeze isn't biology, or even chemistry, really. The breeze, or at least the force of it, is physics. And she knows physics, but no one knows it like Fitz does. Math is said to be a language, and Fitz actually speaks it, dreams it, and lives it.

The air leaves her lungs.

"We'd never get out of here," she whispers, "we'd think it was real."

This seems to please her captor, and he stops to examine her from head to toe.

"I told you, I could have taken anybody, but you two can create the illusion. That's all I want. And in return, I'll give you everything you want."  

"I want to go home!"

For some reason, he has the gall to laugh at her.

"Go home? You don't want to go home, or you'd be there already." He shakes his head at her. "No, you want to be here, or I never could have taken you in the first place. You want your perfect world, with your perfect friends, and your perfect Fitz. You want it all to stay the same, and it never will, you know. It's just going to get worse. There are things that are happening on the outside, even as we speak, that you don't even know about. You don't want to deal with that."

Jemma gulps, and hates the part of her that wants to agree with him. She forces herself to narrow her gaze and fold her arms.

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don't, Jemma." He taps his forefinger against his temple. "You forget that I know you better than anyone."

"Well," she shoots back, "I do. I'm a scientist, after all. If you're in my head, you should know that."

He rolls his eyes. "What does that have to do with it?"

"I can't be a scientist if I don't have access to the natural world," she spits. "In order to advance my understanding, I need to see things as they are, not as I wish them to be." She shuts her eyes tight, as if she can open them up and he'll just be gone, but isn't that what got her into trouble in the first place? No, she's been a coward for too long.

"I know that I've made mistakes, but I, I want to help people. With Fitz. That's what we do together, and we haven't been able to, lately, because things have been getting in the way. And maybe, sometimes, I feel like running, but that doesn't make it right." She takes in a breath to steady herself. "I have to go home, whether I want to deal with my problems or not. I have to do it, or I'll never be happy, don't you see?"

It's the look in her captor's eyes that starts her blood boiling.

"I said I'd give you what you want," he grumbles, "I never said anything about you being happy."

Her fear has turned to anger, and it's bubbling through her like lava. She's tried to keep calm, tried to stay good, but it hasn't worked, and she's tired of it. She has the right to be mad at a monster.

And, to her surprise, it's her anger that brings confusion to his face.

"What are you doing?" His confidence has turned to panic. "What are you thinking?"

"Don't you know?" she fumes, before she realizes that he really doesn't. He's cowering before her like she's threatening to strike him, and she's only started tapping the potential anger within her.

But then, didn't he do that earlier, in the pod? Get confused when she got angry?

Well.

How lucky is she that she has so many things to be mad about? 

Ward's betrayal, Fitz's misunderstandings, Trip's death. She doesn't have far to look. Things haven't been fair, and she's tried so hard. She didn't deserve to stand by helpless when Fitz was in a hospital bed, or when he called her a monster in front of their friends. She worked hard, she played by the rules, and she didn't deserve a bit of it.

And that's when Eneff starts to scream.

"No you won't," he says, "no you won't.

"Yes I will."

"No, Jemma."

"YES, I WILL."

"But I'll be alone here!"

She's never seen anybody so scared, not even Fitz, and even as she feels a pinprick of compassion in her heart, she decides to ignore it. He's manipulated her for the last time.

Instead, she gathers up the entire force of her anger and directs it towards him, and the angrier she gets, the more she starts to feel like finally, finally she's really seeing things as they are. Eneff starts to fade away, like a hologram low on battery, and maybe there's a flaw in the very English notion of always being in control. Jemma's not sure, but she feels a thrill of pride when the room withers and dies, and she finds that she's not in the Playground at all. It's more like she's back in the courtyard, but this time there isn't ivy or walls, there's just a great expanse of space and stars. And in front of her, there's a strange cornucopia of images.

On closer inspection, she understands that they're like little windows, stacked in columns and rows, and through each, she can see into a very different place. From one, Fury peeks out at her, pulling up his eye patch to examine her with both eyes open. From another, she sees a parade of gunfire from which Bobbi and Gonzalez emerge. From another, she sees the flash of what seems to be a red, wide-brimmed hat. She takes a step back to look at it all at once, and realizes that she's looking at the entire history of the rock, from the very beginning until now. And maybe what Eneff said was true, and time really doesn't work here.

It's very possible that she could go into one of these windows and come out at a different moment in time, perhaps even a moment before she was born.

But which moment should she choose? Should she go back to the day Gonzalez retook the  _Illiad_? Or perhaps, she could go to the day before, or even a few weeks, and warn SHIELD far enough in advance that Hydra wouldn't even have a chance. Or, she could go back to the days when SHIELD was formed, and make sure Hydra never took root in the first place. 

The expanse of stars starts to flicker out, and she remembers to keep her anger rumbling within her. There's a part of her that worries that maybe even this is a trap, that her anger will cause her to make an unforgivable mistake, but she's not sure what choice she has. Besides, there is a freedom in unrestrained anger, in actually feeling everything she's bottled up over the last few years in a place where there's no one to hurt. They were wrong before;  _this_  is the best therapy. Because it burns too bright, and she knows it will burn out.

She'll have to make a choice soon, and there are too many options, some of which are places she doesn't even recognize. There are a few squares that show Kree people, perhaps from when the stone was being made, and she certainly doesn't want to end up on some alien planet. But is going to 1947 any better?

Better for the world, maybe, but not for her. Not in the long run, no matter how much she'd like to see SHIELD's infancy. So, stopping Hydra in the recent present it is. She could warn Hand about the Clairvoyant, and Coulson about Ward. She could prevent the fall of SHIELD, and by so doing, change the entire course of the world.

Yes, she could do all of that and more.

Just as she's about to jump into a window that leads to the  _Illiad,_  something catches the corner of her eye. It's herself. She's holding scanning equipment and gaping at Fitz.

For the very first time, she understands that this, too, is an option.

But why would she want to go there?

Going to the _Illiad_  wouldn't stop Fitz from falling in love with her. In fact, it might help, since she'd know how to encourage him. She could prevent his injury, their separation, and so many evils that have fallen upon them in the last twelve months.

So why did it feel so wrong?

And what if she lost the good things that happened in that time? Terrible things had happened, yes, but they'd gotten through them and came out stronger. Skye and Fitz had learned their true identities. Hadn't Jemma as well? Would she have ever learned who she really was if she hadn't faced losing everything?

Sure, she probably could go back into the past and make everything perfect. 

But the sixth thing Jemma Simmons learns is that perfection is grossly overrated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank you guys so much for giving me more comments than I've had on any other fic! You guys rock!


	7. Mortality

"Whoa! What the—"

Jemma finds herself falling into a pair of strong arms that hold her close. Things are a bit hazy, like there's a barrier of fuzz that's blocking out light, sound, and feeling. All she really knows is that there seems to be a bit of a commotion about her, and she wishes they would quiet down so she can get some rest.

"Hey, stay with us, Tiny!"

The fog is already starting to clear, so she tries to do as directed, and finds that she is staring deeply into the eyes of . . . Mack?

Yes, Mack seems to have caught her.

"Okay, she's snapping out of it. Give her some space. Fitz, can you help secure the door?"

Jemma can make out the walls of the Playground, and it's not long until she knows that she's in the room where the rock is kept. She catches Fitz out of the corner of her eye as he brushes past her.

"We're um, we're going to have to build a more secure . . . I'm sure Jemma will help."

Fitz's voice seems to give her strength, and Mack helps to support her as she tries to stand on her own two feet.

"What just happened?"

A stillness falls over the room, and it seems like no one knows quite how to answer. Mack stares at the floor with a pensive look, and when her eyes sweep the room, she finds a stupefied Hunter, Skye, and Coulson. Fitz, on the other hand, is practically bouncing on his heels a few feet away, like he's being held back by some invisible barrier.

"You got sucked into the rock somehow," answers Mack.

"Yes," she says, "I know, but for how long?"

"About ten minutes," Coulson chimes in, "we were starting to get worried."

"Are you okay?"

Jemma's attention turns to Fitz, and she's just noticing that he's been on the verge of tears. She wants to answer him with a hug, but it's like she's cemented in place. There are a thousand things she could say right at this moment that would be comforting, reassuring, and romantic, but instead, she locks her eyes on his and says, "I think so."

There's a charged moment between them as Jemma becomes aware of the hurt in his eyes, and she doesn't need anyone to tell her that he feared the worst. And it's not just that, because before she left they were on shifting ground, and where are they now? He's so fragile that she's afraid to touch and shatter him.

Their moment ends when Coulson starts giving orders, and before she knows it, Skye is escorting her towards a place where she can be looked over. But even as she's being tugged away, her eyes never leave Fitz, and before she's pulled through the door, she manages to say that at least she didn't miss dinner.

* * *

She takes a deep breath as she enters Coulson's office and waits for him to acknowledge her before taking a seat.

"So," Coulson says, "you've had an interesting day."

Jemma rolls her eyes. "To say the least."

"But you've got a clean bill of health?"

She nods, but then hesitates. Since the excitement of being back started to die down, things have been swirling around in her brain, things said by her and by those she dreamed up, and she's decided that she needs to make sense of it. Before now, she always thought the problems would go away if she fixed things _with_  Fitz, or  _for_  Fitz, but she's done so much of that here and in her dreams, and it hasn't been enough.

"Sir, I was wondering . . . I mean, things have been . . ." She bites her lip. "I've just, a lot of things have happened and, I'd, um, I'd like to talk to someone . . . about it."

There's a certain warmth in Coulson's smile that makes her want to cry.

* * *

She walks slowly out of Coulson's office, knowing exactly where she needs to go, but deciding to take her time. She has to sort things out, make them fit in her brain. And she'll need help to do that, she knows that now, but surely she can at least figure out this one piece. 

She's been away from him for too long, and they were on the precipice of something magnificent. What if they fall? But she has to find out, because she's drawn to him, pulled down the corridors by an invisible string, the same string that would have pulled him into the rock if she'd made a different choice. She's determined to find the end of the string, to look Fitz in the eye and discover what the future holds for them.

Just, not yet.

She stands in the doorway and watches him work. It's been over three hours since she's rejoined the human race, and it still doesn't seem real. But Fitz is still Fitz, grumbling about proper procedure even though he doesn't think anyone's in ear shot. Every movement of his brings a surge of affection to her heart, and she finds that she can't stay away from him any longer.

"Hey, Fitz."

He jumps at the sound of her voice, but his smile warms her.

"Hey." He wrings his hands, "Did you, um, are you okay?"

She nods. "I'm cleared for duty."

Fitz nods, too, but with an excess of enthusiasm. "Oh, yeah, good. I mean, if that's what you want, because, uh, apparently that rock can reach out and grab people any time it likes, so we need to uh, we need to fix . . . that."

She gives him a small smile and sidles up next to him. She's close enough to smell the solder on him, mixed with the deodorant she helped him pick out years ago. It's his scent that grounds her, that makes her actually believe that she's back in her own life.

"Well," she says, "I'm sure you already have some ideas . . ." Her heart starts pounding so hard she can feel it in her ears, and she has to swallow down her fear. "I mean, I was hoping to see what you came up with for, uh, for dinner."

Fitz's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. "You . . . you?" He scratches his temple. "You've had a big day, so if you're not . . . yeah, I mean of course. Sure. I have, uh, I have a list."

Fitz takes a memory stick out of his pocket and sticks it into the nearest computer, quickly pulling up what looks like several, very detailed documents. She dares to put her hand on his shoulder and rub circles into it with her thumb.

"I thought I wasn't gone that long."

He looks up at her, slack jawed.

"I left for the _Illiad_  three days ago," he explains.

"Well, yes, but . . ." She takes a breath. "You spent _three days_  working on this?"

She feels him shrug under her hand, and she can't help but smile.

"What was it like?" he asks.

She looks down at him. "Hmm?"

He places his hand over hers, then shifts in his chair to face her. She watches as their hands fall down towards his lap.

"Being in the rock. Were you scared?"

"Oh! Well, I uh . . ." His thumb drags over her knuckles, and her brain turns to instant mush. "It was strange, when I was in there. It's hard to explain. But I . . . all I could think about was being here."  _I wanted to be with you_ , she thinks, but there's no way that the words will make it past her lips, so she prays that he'll understand. "For a moment. I wasn't sure I'd get out of there. I thought you'd have to come get me."

He squeezes her hand as a soberness overtakes him. "I would have. Come after you."

She can't hold back her grin. "I know."

"But, I would have."

There's an earnestness in her voice that she can't bear.

"I know, Fitz," she says.

Someday, she hopes she'll have to words to tell him that she's not the only person who knows that. But instead, she directs his attention back to the screen, and points out a restaurant that she's heard about. It takes them a few tries to hammer out the details, but they figure it out. Jemma gives his hand a squeeze and tries not to shriek with excitement as she leaves to get ready.

She's almost at the door when she remembers something and stops, clenching both fists and trying to gather her courage. She turns around to find that he's already resumed his tinkering.

"Fitz?"

When he looks up at her, concern floods his features. "Is something wrong?"

"Oh, well, no, not really." She has to look down at where she's wringing her hands. "It's just that . . . I mean, I was wondering, you don't have to, if you don't want to, of course. I just  . . ." She takes in a deep breath and lets it out as a sigh. "Fitz, can I kiss you?"

Jemma's not sure what Fitz expected her to say, but it clearly wasn't this, as her words make him almost topple out of his chair. He recovers quickly and clears his throat while avoiding her eyes.

"I, um, excuse me?"

She can't help but smile at him, feeling so much affection for him that she's about to burst.

"I said," she clarifies, stepping towards him, "I'd like to kiss you, if you don't mind."

She closes the space between them until he has to crane his neck to gape at her. He's silent for an excruciating eternity, and she wonders if this is too much too fast. Maybe she's crossed a line. Maybe this new  _thing_  that's between them is too fragile for them to be skipping steps.

She's just about to apologize and run off when he stands up, so close that he almost knocks her over, and his hands land on her shoulders to steady her.

"Sorry! I just . . ." He ducks his head to meet her gaze, and she is overcome with the way his eyes sparkle with sincerity. "I'd love to."

She's so caught up in the moment, so overwhelmed that he's here and so close to her, that she jumps when he leans in.

"Oh!"

Fitz frowns, clearly hurt. "Jemma?"

She takes in a shaky breath. "I'm sorry. I just, I didn't expect . . ." She stops rambling and decides just to go for it, so eager to feel his lips against hers that she bumps his nose hard enough to make him yelp. When their eyes meet, she's about to apologize again when she thinks better of it, grabs his face with both hands, and guides his mouth to meet hers.

The kiss is short, not much more than a peck, but she doesn't move away. They stay there for a moment, so close that she can feel him exhale. She takes this moment to relish the taste of him, cataloging the smell of his aftershave and thinking that this is better than any kiss she's ever had, even better than the thousands of kisses they shared in the Nexus, not because it's perfect, but because it's  _real_. She feels a flood of emotion as she thinks that this is the realest of any moment in her life. She lets go of his face to wrap her arms around him. It's when she feels him embrace her in return that she is overwhelmed by a strange desperation, and she pulls him closer, feeling that he can never be close enough.

"Don't leave me."

If she didn't hear the words herself, she wouldn't believe she said them, and she buries herself in his shoulder as she waits for his response.

"Never," he says.

It's only then, when she finally feels that the war is over, that she realizes there is still one thing she has to do. She only hopes that all the battles she's waged will give her the strength to conquer one last time. But she doesn't have the courage then.

No, it's a few hours later, when they're holding hands as they hike up the paved trail, and Jemma almost hasn't noticed that her shoes are starting to pinch. It's when people pass by and smile at them, and she finds the courage to smile back. It's when they reach the bridge and finally see the wonder of the waterfall, and Fitz leans in to explain to her exactly how the water and light create a rainbow. It's the moment when the water falls in the magnificent the way it's supposed to, and his breath against her skin sends tingles down her spine, that she turns to kiss him like this is the way they were always meant to be, and it is. Her lips were meant to graze against his, her hands made to hold him close, her heart created to understand him. And he should understand her, too, but she knows that he'll need more than her lips to know what she means. He'll need her words.

So, she breaks the kiss with a smile and says them against his shoulder, like a secret.

"Hmm? Did you say something?"

Fitz pulls away from her to search her eyes, and her heart is beating a mile a minute, but she'll never forgive herself if she doesn't conquer this one last piece of her heart. She returns his gaze with affection and intent.

"I love you, Fitz," she says.

She's about to cringe, but he lights up and melts her fear away.

The last thing Jemma Simmons learns is that loving Leopold Fitz is nothing to be afraid of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mack's nickname for Jemma has been borrowed from [ this lovely fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2612447?view_full_work=true) by [Anytha](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Anytha/pseuds/Anytha) and StarryDreamer01. I've spent months trying to think of a better Mack-name for Jemma, but I'm pretty sure it's impossible to find anything more perfect than "Tiny."
> 
> The waterfall they visit is Multnomah Falls, and it's the only waterfall I know of that you probably could get to while wearing heels. The path is steep, but it's short and well-paved. Fitz probably should have told her to wear more sensible shoes, but eh, he'll do better next time. 
> 
> Aaaand we're done! Thanks again for reading and showing your support. It means a lot to me! I do have a deleted scene that will be showing up on [my tumblr](http://agent-85.tumblr.com/) a week from tomorrow, so look out for it!


End file.
